


Temptation

by williamastankova



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will, Hannibal likes it, M/M, That's it, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will buys new cologne, that's the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 12:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18343946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Will finally invests in some new cologne, completely of his own accord. Just how will Hannibal react to this?





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> 'i normally dont just write fics for smut but this... this is just smut. enjoy yourself fellas'

Will's not often one to heed advice, especially when it's not in a life-or-death situation. For example, he's perfectly happy to practise shooting when he's told his aim is a little off, because that could come in handy. That could affect not only himself, but put the safety of those in his charge in jeopardy. In this hypothetical scenario, he would take advice, but on the other hand there's times like when Hannibal told him he should change his cologne and he laughed him off, because _really_ , it's not that big of a deal.

Even so, as he's absently strolling through the store one day, his mind falls to the topic. He thinks rationally, logically, and concludes that he does indeed need new cologne, seeing as the one he got given last has run out, and it's not like Christmas is just around the corner or anything. It just makes him feel good to smell good, or at least that's what he claims to himself as he splashes out on a new scent, one described on the bottle as 'murky forest'. He's not quite sure that's a good thing, but he's won over by the fact that there's nothing remotely boat-like on the bottle. He ignores the little voice in his head that mocks his previous cologne - it's not his voice anyway - and heads to pay at the till.

As soon as he's home, he tries it out. At first, he nearly chokes with how strongly it smells, but as he wades through the initial stages he grows to like it. Then, he even loves it. Next, he might even consider buying it again, because it doesn't dissipate within the hour, and he swears he still smells a hint of it the next morning, when he gets up to have a shower. He can't help but be impressed.

For his next appointment with Hannibal, he decides to run a little experiment. If he wears it (which he does), he wants to see how long it takes the doctor's over-sensitive nose to pick up on the change. He briefly considers starting a stopwatch to make sure his account is as accurate as possible, but decides that might give away the game, so he just throws on a jacket and heads out onto the icy roads.

He's more than grateful when he arrives to Hannibal's office, because it's warm. Even standing out in the hallway as he waits for Hannibal to open the door, his fingers have started to regain feeling, and he is no longer afraid he'll die of frostbite before he can see just how noticeable the new cologne is.

As usual, there's a pause of about thirty seconds in which he waits for Hannibal to presumably register his knock and come to answer the door. He shuffles a little bit, inexplicably nervous, and only looks back up from the floor when the door opens and Hannibal is standing before him, smiling at him with his warm smile.  
"Will," he says his name as he always does, "Come on in."

Will, a little prematurely, begins to draw the conclusion that Hannibal isn't going to notice at all. After all, it'd only be noticeable if he shifted from his ship-bottled cologne to something floral, or otherwise downright disgusting. Granted that he's picked something only marginally different, he might as well stop paying attention the little details as he gauges Hannibal's altered reaction... only he notices that as he walks past, into the office, the doctor sniffs him.

He finds it difficult to keep a straight face. After all, he'd just been _smelt_ , which was weird. It was weird, right? Being so close to Hannibal for an extended period of time had loosened his connection to the real world, and his moral and oddness compass had gone a little askew. Regardless, he made a mental note of the occurrence, and then turned his attention to removing his jacket, unleashing the full power of his new scent.

This time, Hannibal's reaction was clearly visible. He eyed Will intently, pupils blown, though never looking at his face, only at the offending body that was wafting deliciously unfamiliar smells towards him. His mouth fell open, as though wanting to say something, but then closed again when he realised there were no words to be said. He simply froze, seeming unsure of himself, and then took Will's coat and retreated back to the closed door, where he slowly hung the article on a peg.

"I'm sorry to be so late, Doctor," Will made an excuse to get them talking, even though he was only a couple of minutes late. "I hope that's not considered _rude_."

Lately, he'd been toying with the reality he'd come to know, and was now bordering on manic as he joked about the horrendous truths that had come to light about his friend. He'd discovered that Hannibal, who was as he now knew an actual psychopath and serial killer, sometimes picked his victims just because he considered them mildly _rude_. Realistically, he should have run for the hills, not willingly entered into the living, breathing crime scene routinely, attending his appointments. The whole idea terrified him, true, but it inexplicably excited him even more.

"That's quite alright, Will," Hannibal responded in a way that would have been equally as playful, had he not still been distracted by the aroma which had infiltrated his office. "Please, take a seat."

Obliging, Will walked over to their usual seats, and wasted no time in taking his. He had expected Hannibal to follow suit, sitting across from him, in next to no time, and so he grew confused when the man was nowhere to be seen. In search of his friend, Will turned his head and scanned the room, and found him stood with a bottle of red wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.

He stopped beside Will, and put the glasses on the table beside his chair. With careful precision, he began pouring out the contents of the bottle into them, and spoke once more. Will was taken aback by how dark his voice had become, and by how it seemed to purr when next to his ear.

"Your cologne, Will," he said purposefully, not wasting any time, "It's... exquisite."

Will couldn't suppress a nervous chuckle as he turned to watch Hannibal pour the drink, watch his hands wrapped firmly around the bottle.  
"'Exquisite?' Flattery gets you nowhere, Doctor Lecter."

"Flattery gets you everywhere, Will, but this is not flattery." Hannibal stopped pouring the drink and looked pointedly at him as he screwed the lid back on.

He set the bottle on the table with the glasses and held Will's eyes for a moment too long, so that the man physically stopped breathing. Having anticipated something right then (he didn't know what), Will was at even more of a loss than he had been previously when Hannibal simply picked up a glass and handed it to him, then moved further behind him, somewhere he couldn't see.

"I have to say," Will was unwilling to let the conversation die, even if his throat felt like it was closing up, "You were right about changing my cologne. I've never appreciated the effect a good scent can have on people's perceptions of you - and of your perception of yourself."

"Indeed. It makes you carry yourself with a certain... elegance, comfortable with the knowledge that you aren't going by unnoticed." Will wasn't naive enough to not realise that Hannibal was speaking with a less than general purpose. He then continued, "You smell fantastic, Will, really. Finally you smell as fine as you look."

Will, more than a little shocked by Hannibal's forwardness, jerked his arm, which consequently meant that some of his wine went spilling over the side of the glass. Panicked, Will couldn't even appreciate that it hadn't touched Hannibal's pristine furniture, but had settled on his jeans and was seeping a bullet wound through the fabric there. He was certain that the former offence would result in his actual murder and dismemberment, which wasn't quite his goal just yet. He stood abruptly, almost sending more wine everywhere, and then set the glass down and began fumbling, looking in vain for something to use to wipe himself down.

"I'm sorry," he said to Hannibal, not looking at him but obviously directing his words at him, "I don't know what happened, I just-"

"Never mind, Will. One moment," Hannibal moved deftly across the room, retrieved a cloth, and was soon enough back by Will, only this time more directly behind him, and much closer. He clutched the fabric in his hand and wrapped his arm around Will, beginning to scrub Will's jeans, attempting to clean off whatever he could of the wine, obviously not thinking about the implications to Will's mental state in that moment.

Will knew he could take control. He knew he could pluck the cloth from Hannibal's hands, and he could do it himself. Better yet, he could tell Hannibal that it was fine, that his jeans were cheap, and that he'd had them for far too long anyway. He could crack a joke, lighten the mood, and say it was probably God's way of telling him to go clothes shopping. He could even suggest that they go together, and Hannibal could introduce him to a finer way of living, with nicer clothes to compliment his nicer cologne. Instead, he did none of these things. Instead, he simply let himself be handled by Hannibal, and relished in the searing hot feeling whenever Hannibal's fingers so much as brushed past his exposed skin for a second.

Firstly, Hannibal's motions were purposeful, and completely mechanic. He bent his knees to allow access to Will's legs, and he worked the cloth against his jeans hard, clearly actually trying to rid him of the stain and an undoubtedly hefty dry cleaning bill if he made such an effort. Will couldn't have even pretended it wasn't professional, but then he slowed a little, and his free hand came to Will's waist. He held him there, steadying him, creeping back to stand erect once more, then resting his chest firmly against Will's back for extra support for his actions. More and more, their positioning became less for necessity, and more for want. Will found himself keening into every touch, and in return Hannibal touched him more, everywhere.

It was when the cloth dropped that Will knew they couldn't pretend anymore. He shifted his gaze from where it had been, watching Hannibal's hands move on his jeans, to looking over his shoulder at the man already looking at him. His hands had stilled, leaving only their gazes, feeling hot, in the silent room. Will considered a hundred things to say, but withdrew each and every time he went to say them. Nothing seemed appropriate, so he let Hannibal speak for them.

"Your scent, Will..." Hannibal sounded half-present, like he was thinking more of something else than what he was saying, "I wonder if you taste as delicious as you smell."

Hannibal's eyes dropped, breaking their prolonged contact. The focus shifted to Will's lips, and when Hannibal's mouth fell slack Will knew this meant, 'may I?'. Despite being asked no question, he nodded, and Hannibal sucked in a sharp breath and delved as far as he could go into Will's personal space: he kissed him.

Will would have liked to compare the kiss to the movies, with perfection and bliss. This, however, wouldn't have been strictly true, because Hannibal was still stood behind him, which lent an awkward angle to kiss at. His neck had already begun to ache having been twisted for a prolonged time, and his brow furrowed as he tried his best to not break the kiss. This, once again, was in vain.

"I'm sorry-" he began to apologise, having had to stop the kiss so prematurely to get a particular knot out of his neck. He was soon cut off abruptly.  
"Will," Hannibal whispered against him, and he could feel the hot breath hit his lips as he spoke, "No more apologies."

Seeming to understand the problem, Hannibal's grip on Will's waist tightened as he spun him, standing them across from each other but never moving more than an inch away. He stopped briefly to admire the entirety of Will's face, almost but not quite breaking a smile, and then dove back in for his prize.

Will fell pliant. Having never felt so wanted in his life, he subconsciously admitted that he'd let Hannibal do whatever he wanted with him, and he'd undoubtedly enjoy it in some way, shape, or form. After all, nothing that felt this good could ever be bad, and so he melted under Hannibal's fingers, unable to feel anything but how his nails dug lightly into his skin through the material of his t-shirt, but yelped louder than even he'd expected when a sharp pain split his lips. He pulled his face back a few inches.

"You bit me," he accused, and he didn't quite know how to react to the proud smirk that spread across Hannibal's face as he did so.  
"I know," the other man responded, and then cockily continued, "I did say I wanted to taste you, did I not? And how better to taste than by piercing the flesh."  
Will frowned. "Why don't you eat me next time?"

Will forced himself to look and sound dreadfully moody, but couldn't stop his breath hitching when Hannibal's smile dropped and the hungry look returned to his angled features. The doctor eyed him, outlining his face and then meeting his eye as the hands on his back dropped slightly, to rest above his rear, connecting their groins in a way that made Will feel electrified. He leaned in, and Will was convinced he was going to initiate another kiss, but then he moved to the side and whispered in his ear, slowly, surely, confidently:  
"That can be arranged."

At that precise moment, Will felt himself being lifted upwards. Taken by surprise, he could only make a pitiful noise and cling for dear life onto Hannibal's shoulders, which he could feel through his shirt were flexing as they adjusted to the weight of Will in his arms. The man, as tall and lean as he was, had pleasantly shocked Will with his strength. He had shut his eyes with fright, but when he realised he was safe he opened them again and met Hannibal's gaze, who was looking at him with dark yet lazy eyes. He felt wonderfully watched.

"See something you like?" He tried his best to sound seductive. He didn't know whether the quirk of Hannibal's upper lip was a good sign or not.

No verbal response came as Hannibal began walking, rather impressively not breaking a sweat as he took them both simultaneously over to the sofa and kneeled, settling Will in before sitting himself, pressed at all available points to Will as he leaned over him, pushing him gently back into the pillows, and studied his face closely. He looked somewhat bemused, and he brought up a knuckle to absently brush the skin of Will's cheek. Will could feel his face flush, embarrassed with the attention suddenly being on him, and resolved to break the silence in the room.

"It seems you favour this cologne, then." He attempted to joke, but Hannibal's gaze remained as heated and intent as it had beforehand.

"I'm always enchanted by you, Will," Will wriggled around at this, writhing with simultaneous cringe and adoration, because as lovely as it was he had no idea how to respond. "The cologne has nothing to do with it."

"Nothing?" Will's laugh came out forced, but he was at least somewhat amused, "This hasn't happened before today, Doctor. I can't imagine that's one of the world's greatest coincidences."

This time, Will definitely saw Hannibal crack a smile. His finger stilled, and his hand came to rest on his cheek, cupping it. He eyed Will, holding his gaze momentarily, then looking back to his lips and wordlessly dipping his head back in, claiming what he wanted. Will was grateful for this distraction, but soon grew impatient.

Not one for words, he instead shifted them (well, primarily himself, seeing as Hannibal was pretty much in the perfect position anyway) so that he was laying with Hannibal both above him and between his legs, enveloped by his thighs. He'd all but forgotten about the spilled wine, and had taken instead to lamenting internally about how restricted his legs were. The dreadful jeans were not the only barrier between Hannibal and himself, but they were certainly the greatest.

Impatiently, he made a disgruntled noise and pushed Hannibal back with hands firmly on his chest. He didn't miss - couldn't miss - how Hannibal looked lost for a moment, only able to stare darkly, wantonly, at his lips, until he regained his composure and seemed to recall his surroundings again. He caught on to Will's gesturing to his jeans and shifted back only far enough to peel the garment from Will's legs, and then he was back upon him.

Will sighed involuntarily, releasing any tension, and couldn't help but think, _oh, this is much better_  when Hannibal's hands began roaming across his newly bared skin. He can't believe they've danced around this for so long, acted like they didn't want it, because giving in - this heavenly sin - is unlike anything Will could have even imagined. The way Hannibal's fingernails rake little red marks, bleeding /mine/ into his flesh, he can't help but sigh into the dreadfully unfamiliar feeling of belonging.

It's when Hannibal's hands slip underneath him and arch his back for him that he comes back into himself and managed a distant, "Hannibal."

The word makes the other man stop, not quite dead in his tracks as his fingers keep moving in soothing rhythms and there's the brief flash of nails every so often, but he doesn't continue moving downwards, doesn't push anything past what they've already built up to before he hears what Will's going to say.

"I..." Will probably should have thought out what he was going to say. Now, he was left looking down at the man between his legs, eyes hooded, mind in fifteen specific other places. At a certain point, he hits the bottom of the wall he his in his brain and settles with, "I'm glad you're here."

It's stupid, but Hannibal doesn't laugh, and for this Will is eternally grateful. There's no cheesy dialogue, but Hannibal responds with a touched smile and proud eyes, then he nods and looks to Will to signal him to continue or stop completely. Will goes with the former, and gestures to signal so.

He's feeling over-sensitive by the time Hannibal pulls back the final layer between them, leaving Will in the nude while Hannibal is decidedly not. He feels frustrated, he feels upset, he feels agitated, but most of all he feels turned on. He's never gotten off on one-sided exposure before, but now he thinks he might have a new kink to explore; he tries not to get his hopes up about this exploration being with Hannibal, on another or perhaps many other occasions.

Will's throat feels like it's closing up. In fact, the more he thinks about it, his entire body feels like it's shutting down, but in the best way possible. Even so, he doesn't think Hannibal would like to take things further with a vegetative Will (then again, this is hardly a side of him Will's explored before, so all cards are on the table at current moment). He shifts a little, struggling to move both his own weight and the newfound weight of Hannibal leaning over him, resting on top of him, and instead stops, opting to speak.

His voice is croaky, wanting, when it comes out. He's almost ashamed, but then he knows it could be and seems to be construed as sexy, judging by how Hannibal's dark eyes flash and his teeth find Will's neck and skim up and down the pristine flesh. Will can't say much, but with the few words he manages he chooses to be seductively sarcastic (or, at the very least, that was what he was going for):

"I thought you were going to taste me."

He knows exactly what it means, and he knows exactly what it can be taken to mean, too. That was the point, after all, but still - for some reason - it comes as a shock when Hannibal, wordless and wanton, picks himself up on his hands and slips down in one single, swift movement, and engulfs Will's length whole. It's hot - almost too hot - and, for the second, third, fourth time that night, Will's feeling over-sensitive. Only, this time he can't quite find it in himself to stop.

Hannibal initially begins messily. He uses virtually no skill whatsoever, just the basics of putting his mouth on Will and moving, and it's _glorious._  Then, he pops off of Will's member and pauses only briefly, and Will likes to imagine him at a loss of what to do, with the options all lain out before him. He loves to think there's things even Hannibal hasn't perfected yet. This brings him a peculiar sense of joy, and he'd smirk if Hannibal wasn't suddenly busying himself again, wrapping a hand around his dick, pulling it lazily up then back down. His mouth forms an 'o' without any forethought on his part.

"Will," Hannibal sounds impressively breathless, and it only adds fuel to Will's roaring fire, "You are... so special."

Maybe Will's dreaming. Maybe the flush that comes to his face doesn't actually come to his face at all, because maybe none of this is real. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he weighs up probabilities and challenges the odds, it's pretty much impossible that any of this is happening. Even down to basic biology, the chance that exactly half of his blood is in his face and the other half is in his groin is next to never-land. Then again, in that moment, he can't quite bring his focus to subjects such as these, so he lets himself live in this lost land, just a while longer.

He's embarrassed. Of course he's embarrassed, because here he is, naked, sprawled out before Hannibal. The man who was initially only intended to give him a psych eval so he could continue his job as desired was now the man between his bare legs, stroking, caressing, adoring him. It was all too much, and so yes, he was wordlessly embarrassed. Even still, he forces himself to look down as he feels himself nearing the edge, because when he breaches it - when he's finishing - he wants to be able to make a permanent record in his mind of this view, because he couldn't tell even himself if it was real or fake - never mind whether or not it would happen again.

God he hoped it would.

He sighed, chest relishing in the loss of the heavy feeling that had been building up inside of him since at least his arrival, though it felt much too tight for that. It felt ancient, but he daren't dig into its past. Instead, he opted to relax his shoulders into the couch beneath him, and take in all that he could sense about Hannibal's whereabouts and actions.

From what he could gather, after his climax, Hannibal took a moment, then stood and left. When he returned with a wet cloth, it was clear that he had no desire to have himself finish with Will, at least not that night. Something desperate inside Will prayed that there would come a time where he would want such a thing, and they could both feel such content together, but he was never one for prolonged overexposure to hope. All he knew was that he hoped Hannibal wouldn't look at him different - as less, as easier, and nothing - and this, he supposed, was the reason why he found it so hard to peel open his eyes and face the truth.

He did. Eventually, he gathered up enough of himself to open his eyes and search the room, where he found Hannibal simply watching him. It wasn't so much unnerving as it was comforting - somewhere between, a comfortable middle - and so he simply looked back, only letting the quirk of his lip flourish into a grin when he saw Hannibal form one of his own.

There weren't words. Even if he were a poet, with fantastic ideas and eloquence for the gods themselves, there were just none. All there was left was the look the two men shared, the smiles they both wore, and the hope that had begun to nest and grow inside of Will's heart, because this wasn't something he'd ever experienced before, not like this - never like this.

He'd never been a dreamer, with his head simultaneously in the clouds and buried in the sand, but for this, for Hannibal, for them, he might just be willing to change his tune.


End file.
